


Fucking Bassists

by KateMonster



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateMonster/pseuds/KateMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick hates bassists. Sort of. Fine, maybe not really. Not like, a lot. Whatever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Bassists

**Author's Note:**

> The world's best game to play with a house full of bandom fangirls: Fic from a hat. Put all the characters you could conceivably write about on little slips of paper and then pull names from the hat. It's a good time.
> 
> Also, this fic hasn't had a beta anywhere near it. Sorry for any errors! If you find some, please tell me and I will fix it.

Pete focuses on the weirdest shit. He’s a little fragile, held together with sheer will, and Patrick’s used to that. That’s okay, it’s just Pete, but this is new, embarrassing and upsetting. He's really determined to get Patrick laid on Warped, which is fucking insane, clearly, because it's _Warped_ , right? He’s been trailing after Patrick like a really perverted puppy doing some kind of horrible survey, asking him every five seconds “Boys or girls, ‘Trick?” and “Patrick, tall or short?” or “Aw, come on, Patrick, help me out here, I’m trying to do something for you! Help me help you!” It’s annoying to say the least. His fucking _bassist_ , Jesus Christ.

"There is no hooking up at Warped," he says, picking at Iero's acoustic. His back is propped against the couch. He's hiding, ass on the dubious floor of My Chem's bus, with the Way brothers sitting above him, because if he goes back to his own bus, there is a serious, Defcon-1, for-real danger of his bassist ending up with a pair of drumsticks shoved down his throat. Maybe that would shut him up for five seconds.

Gerard looks up from his laptop momentarily and blinks.

"That's inaccurate."

"He's right," his brother says, his thumbs barely pausing on the keypad of his phone. "I hook up all the time."

"Liar," Gerard says. "Last night you ate three packs of Frank's gummy worms and passed out on the couch."

"That's fucking sad." Patrick says, tipping his head back to stare the younger Way down. "Really?"

"One-time thing.” Mikey shrugs, and he’s kind of adorable, with his stupid scene kid hair and a self-deprecating smirk on his face.

"When we were kids," Gerard laughs, kicking his toes against his brother's thighs, "Mikey got laid all the time. He had the hook-ups, yo. Weed, bootleg dvd's, whatever." Mikey shrugs, still texting, but Patrick detects a hint of a smile somewhere around his top lip.

"Don't say ‘yo’, Gee," he sighs, shaking his head sadly and Patrick can't help laughing.

"You have a nice smile," Gerard says, reaching down to tug a little on the brim of Patrick's trucker hat absently.

"Uh," Patrick says, because he never knows what to do with a compliment. "Thanks?"

Mikey snorts and shakes his head sadly with a little frown creasing his forehead.

"Get used to it," he says. "My brother's a strange dude." His eyes flick down to Patrick, sitting on the floor, a little boggled. His chin comes up, a little bit _say something, go ahead_ , something less adorable and a little more Jersey in his eyes.

"Dude," Patrick says, holding his gaze. "I live in a giant metal tube with Pete Wentz."

Mikey nods, and his smile's really pretty, too.

Fuck.

~

Because they’ve been living together in the world’s most cramped conditions practically since before his balls dropped, and because he’s the worst liar ever, Patrick’s completely incapable of keeping anything from his band for more than about fifteen seconds.

Andy cocks an eyebrow at him and very pointedly does _not_ ask. Joe just starts laughing. Pete, who is simultaneously the world’s best wingman and the most embarrassing fucker alive, takes one look at him watching My Chem’s set and crows “Trick’s got a crush!”

He doesn’t do it where anyone important can hear, though, which is the only reason Patrick doesn’t punch his stupid, gleeful face.

“I hate you,” he says calmly, wishing like hell that he didn’t blush quite as red as he always does.

~

Pete pulls Mikey onstage during their set. Patrick dies quietly, just inside his heart a little. He doesn’t think his voice cracks, though.

“That was fun,” Mikey says after, leaning against a bus with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Huh?” Patrick says intelligently, and then his brain catches up with his eyes, which are stuck somewhere around Mikey’s hipbones. “Oh, yeah. Yeah.” He smiles.

“Gee’s right,” Mikey says, stepping forward, and then his hands slide back out of his pockets and come up, slow, like Patrick’s going to spook. “You have a really nice smile.”

His hand wraps around the back of Patrick’s neck, warm, a little sticky with sweat, and Mikey leans down, and then somehow Patrick’s hands both slide up Mikey's sides entirely without his permission. But Mikey’s mouth is hot on his, and he kisses a little like he plays, hard and surprisingly energetic, with little bites. Patrick’s still just trying to keep up when Mikey pulls away a little, rests his chin on Patrick’s shoulder.

“I hate Pete,” Patrick says, apropos of everything.

“No, you don’t,” Mikey says, smirking. “He told me you love him. And maybe me.”

“Whatever,” Patrick scoffs. “I do not.”

“Do too,” Mikey says, and there it is again, the damn tiny smile that lurks right at the corners of his eyes. “You think I’m awesome.”

“Do not.” Patrick makes his voice a little sulkier than it could be.

“Do too,” Mikey says, finally laughing right out loud. “I’m a little brother, Stump, I can do this all night.”

So Patrick has to kiss him again. Just to shut him up. Those fucking bassists.


End file.
